


He Isn't Real

by coffeeandfeathers



Category: Fight Club (1999), Fight Club - All Media Types
Genre: Blowjobs, Fighting, Fingering, Gangbang, Insomnia, M/M, Masturbation, PWP, in which the narrator is a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 12:48:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15930761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandfeathers/pseuds/coffeeandfeathers
Summary: I wrote this a long time ago for my girlfriend. It's short and gross.





	He Isn't Real

He didn’t come back. He wouldn’t come back, no matter how many fights I picked, no matter how many teeth I dug out by the root behind dive bars. I stopped trying, started letting guys beat me until they were hard and then hold me by the jaw so they could keep my mouth open. It was the only way I could think to get some sleep. Waking up sore and dirty was at least waking up.

            The police seized the house on Paper Street. I found an apartment with enough room for a mattress, a couple boxes, a suitcase of shirts. It didn’t feel enough like the stale, shitty house to be home. I knew the house didn’t matter, that Tyler was the thing that made anywhere feel okay, but I tried to build something without him anyway.

            “He isn’t real,” I would say to myself sometimes, staring up at the moldy ceiling, finding patterns. “He isn’t coming back. He isn’t real.” That didn’t stop me from wishing, fervently, in bar bathrooms or back alleys or behind dumpsters, that if I just hit bottom hard enough, he would come.

            He found me on the floor, listening to termites. He found me half hard, trying to work out the little tension keeping me conscious. He found me with two fingers.

            “Miss me?”

            I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I didn’t. I felt him move against my thigh, slide his body in between my legs. He touched something inside me, clawed until I couldn’t be quiet anymore.

            “Shut up.” His other hand snaked around my throat. I opened my mouth.

            “Fuck, when’d you become someone else’s whore?”

            “You aren’t real.”

            Tyler laughed, jabbed in a third, took the skin of my neck and chest and ground it between his teeth and fuck, _that_ felt real. I tried to touch him, couldn’t when he forced me onto my belly.

            “Those are my fingers, those are my…” I stopped talking when his hands found my hair, raked his nails down my back until I smelled blood. Everything bled, and when I woke up, I was hollowed out and he was gone.

 

            The next time, he left a lye burn on my hip to match the one on our hands. The next time, he came for me in a bathroom stall after I’d been used up already.

            “Guess you’re all ready for me then,” he said, and then broke two of my teeth to get me hard again. I’ve never slept so well in my life.

 

            “Fuck you.” I’m sobbing and Tyler’s working me with both hands and his mouth and his teeth catch a new chemical burn and everything is searing. “Fuck you. Fuck you.”

            “Then fuck me,” Tyler said.

            “I love you.”

            “Shut up.”


End file.
